


Moment's Silence

by cleopatras



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Bottom!George, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Part one is sfw, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Sorry guys, but still, i dont know how to tag smut, once again if you squint, part two is NOT, technically they're just TAs, that's important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29215032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleopatras/pseuds/cleopatras
Summary: George and Dream are both teaching assistants for the same professor, and while covering for him, Dream learns the students have picked up on the tension between the two of them and he hasn't even noticed it. So, he does something about it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 1096
Collections: MCYT





	1. Chapter 1

“All right class, Professor Fisch is out today, so y’all know what that means,” Dream clasps his hands together as he stood in front of the bleary-eyed students. He wasn’t happy about being up before 11 am either, but at least he got to be in charge for once. “Be honest with me, who actually did the reading, raise of hands, I won’t tell Prof.”

There was a slight hesitation in the class before a few hands went up. He laughs at the sparseness, but appreciates the honesty nonetheless, “Okay, okay, well for those of you who didn’t read it, you’re missing out because Joyce Carol Oates is a marvelous writer; this one is even a favorite of mine so I’m taking this personally. So, we’re gonna talk about the characterization of Connie and Arnold. I want you guys to tell me how they are developed and what we know about them. C’mon, I wanna see hands.”

Honestly, Dream loves when he gets to command the class— part of why he’s working towards becoming a professor himself, but he still has a ways to go on his master's program. He hopes his future classes are more enthusiastic than this, but he doesn’t mind taking the lead.

“Cool, I’ll start!” he exclaims to the empty classroom. He already knows he’s far too energetic for the morning, but he has the iced espresso he picked up on the way to class that’s still sitting half full on the professor’s desk to thank for that. “So, what do we know about Connie? She’s fifteen, insecure, bad relationship with her mom,  _ and  _ is reaching the age where she’s begun to seek out attention from men,  _ but _ what is the problem with this?”

A student raises his hand, “Clay, it’s nine in the morning.”

“Doesn’t answer my question, anyone else?”

“She thinks she’s mature for her age, therefore her idea of adulthood is romanticized,” a new voice joins the room, a British accent thick. It’s a voice Dream has rarely crossed paths with.

“George, how nice of you to join us, need something?” Dream turns to face his fellow TA. George was a bit older than him, further into his master's program, but he’s only assisting for credits whereas Dream actually wants to teach the subject he’s grading papers for. Still, they have a mutual understanding of each other. 

George rubs his eyes, clearly having just woken up along with the class, “Uh, yeah, I need the uh, the social justice research papers from 15A, Fisch forgot to give them to me, told me to grab them from you.”

“15A, 15A…” Dream mutters to himself as he opens up the filing cabinet that contains all of the ungraded papers, “Sorry, class, give me just a minute, ah— here they are.”

He hands off the folder and George nods, “Thanks, I’ll be in the office because I’m stuck on campus all day anyway, so if for some reason you need anything… yeah, see you.”

“See you,” Dream nods, watching the man leave. He would be lying if he said he was focusing on anything besides the way George’s mocha-colored corduroy hugged his ass as he left. Once the other TA is gone, he clears his throat and returns to his class, but is interrupted by a student before he can say anything. 

It’s the same students who noted the time, except this time he asks, “Dude, when are you guys gonna fuck?”

“Yeah, that was painful to watch,” another student chimes in and Dream is at a loss for words.

He gasps, running a hand through his dirty blond hair as he shakes his head at the class, “What… What the hell, guys? We’re not— that’s not what happened there. You guys, you guys! No, no, we’re going back to the lesson.”

“He’s blushing!” a student calls.

“I’m a grown man, I don’t _blush_ ,” Dream argues with noticeably pink cheeks. “Anyway, George was right, she’s got a romanticized idea of adulthood which is why nothing about Arnold seems wrong at first glance, he just seems like a normal teenage boy who’s got the hots for her. However, what do we learn about Arnold as the story goes on?”

Of course, when he calls on a student, it’s anything but an answer to his question, “How did you  _ not _ feel a little tension there? Like, we  _ all _ felt it, it happens anytime you guys are in a room together.”

There are a few nods from the class and mutters of  _ “yeah, every time,” _ and Dream groans, giving up and taking a sip of his now-lukewarm coffee. He leans against the desk for a moment with his arms crossed, glaring at the students. He hopes he comes off as intimidating— at 6’3, you’d think he would— but everyone seems unphased. 

A hand raises and he’s almost scared to call on the student, but he points to her anyway, “Uh, well, we learn that Arnold is a grown man dressed up as a teenager and that he’s manipulating Connie into coming with him so he can murder her.”

“Thank you for actually  _ answering _ —”

“—But seriously, you’re telling us there’s  _ nothing  _ between you and George?”

Dream groans, “You guys know I’m the one who grades all your shit, right? You know this? Listen, I barely even know the guy and the few times I _have_ spoken to him have been about boring class shit. What you guys think you saw is all totally in your head.”  
“Your eyes were, like, _glued_ to his ass when he was walking out,” the first student scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Clay, you can’t lie to us.”

“I’m gonna take away your guys’ first name privileges if you aren’t careful.” The man glares at his class, but he can’t help but wonder if they’re right. He’s not going to entertain that idea in front of them, of course, he wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. However, he  _ does _ think George is attractive, but he doubts the other is even attracted to men, and even then that wouldn’t mean he was into Dream specifically. He tried to keep his hookups in grad school to a minimum, not trying to relive his chaotic frat boy days when it was a different guy or girl every other day, so it wasn’t like he was aiming to jump George’s bones. Especially not when they would have to run across each other too many times until the semester ended. It just wasn’t smart, even if George  _ was _ hot. 

“At  _ least  _ shoot your shot,” the student continues, “Like, aren’t you always telling us to go for it?”

“In your writing! Don’t use my words against me,” Dream shakes his head, “For real, guys, let’s get back to the lesson, okay? Fisch will kill me if he finds out I let you guys slack off to talk about something as silly as my love life. Uh, Bryanne, how do we find out that he’s a killer?”

Bryanne groans at the notion of being called out, but she’s the only one who has made any effort to actually participate in the discussion, so she obliges, saying, “We find out through the dialogue. Oates uses his dialogue in a way so that we find out he’s a killer at the same time Connie is finding out. His character is developed fully through Connie’s perspective.”

“Perfect! Finally, an answer from one of you, thank you, Bryanne,” his voice sounds exasperated and he knows it. He can feel the tired, judgemental stares from his students. He sighs, “Guys, I know you don’t wanna talk about this, but can we please not discuss my love life? It’s non-existent and none of your business.”

“We’re just helping you out, bro,” a student says and Dream gives up, sitting on the desk with his ankles crossed and his heels against the floor. 

“I am not your bro and I don’t need help!” he exclaims, pushing up the sleeves of his button-up as he crosses his arms, “Like if I wanted to ask him out, I would! But that’s not something I’m worried about right now. I don’t need to be worried about who I’m dating or not dating or as you so eloquently put it, Dylan,  _ fucking,  _ thank you for that, and you guys don’t need to be worried about it either! Why do you guys even care?”

Bryanne, surprisingly, was the one to speak up, “Listen, Clay, he’s good looking, you’re good looking, and I saw him reading Allen Ginsberg so there’s like an eighty-five-percent chance that he’s gay because the only motherfuckers who read Allen Ginsberg are avid watchers of  _ Kill Your Darlings _ because Daniel Radcliffe and Dane DeHaan are stupid hot and you know who would want to see Daniel Radcliffe and Dane DeHaan kiss? Teenage girls and  _ gay men _ .” 

Dream is slightly taken aback by this considering that’s the most he thinks Bryanne has ever said in one go in front of the entire class. He pauses for a moment before bursting into laughter, shaking his head at the students. 

“So, you guys really all think I should ask him out?” he sighs, regaining his composure. He gets a few scattered nods from the students who were paying attention to the ideal. “Great, I’ll keep that in mind next time I see him and it will stay in my mind and nowhere else because it’s not happening.”

Sparse groans riddle the room and all he offers them is a teasing smile as he gets back to the lesson at hand, “All right, back to Oates…” 

The lesson goes on without any more wandering off-topic, thankfully, and Dream sighs to himself once he is alone in the classroom. He takes the quick-write exercises he had collected from the students, opting to get a headstart to grading them before the professor gets on his back about it. He likes teaching, he really does, especially writing, but when sometimes he can’t handle the students. When Dream enters the office, he expects it to be empty, but the very subject of his irritation with his students is sitting there, pouring over papers. He mentally chastises himself for forgetting George saying he would be there. Still, the dark-haired man regards him with quiet consideration once he hears the sound of the door and Dream just offers a thin-lipped smile as he settles down in the chair opposite the desk, usually intended for students, and grabs a red pen. 

“How’d class go? I know you like it when you get to run it,” George asks, surprising Dream. Usually, they don’t make conversation outside of formalities, so this is definitely something else.

Dream tries his best to focus on the paper on the desk as he answers, “It was all right once it got rolling, but some of them were insistent on discussing… other things besides the assignment. But once I got them to shut up about that, it was pretty good. I’ve always loved Oates, even if  _ Where Are They Going?  _ creeps me the fuck out, but that’s… more information than you asked for when you were probably only asking to be nice, sorry, I’ll, uh, shut up now.”

He doesn’t know why he feels so  _ nervous.  _ Never once has he been nervous around George of all people and this is just ridiculous. His students are wrong, there’s nothing between him and George so no reason for him to feel this stupid when he talks to him. He curses himself for somehow letting the students and their schoolgirl gossip get in his head. 

“No, it’s okay, I was genuinely asking because I wanted to know,” George chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he drops his pen on the desk, “My hand is cramping like hell from these papers. I think I’m going crazy.”

“Isn’t that a freshman class?” George nods. “I don’t know how you do it. I was re-reading some of my freshman papers and I don’t know how my professors didn’t shoot themselves in the head.”

George laughs at this and Dream finds himself smiling at the sound, “It’s because they had chumps like us to feel suicidal for them. What were you students so occupied with? They seemed fairly on-topic when I stopped in, even if they were half-asleep.”

Dream knows he’s blushing before he can even feel the warmth flooding to his cheeks, “Ah, it’s, it’s stupid, really. They just— they just thought that, like, ugh, it’s so stupid I almost don’t even wanna say it, it’s like they thought that, that me and you— hah— were, uh, flirting, when you came in. I set them straight, of course, you know those kids and their—”

“Oh, no, I flirt with you all the time, I was just waiting for you to notice,” George smiles, his eyes meeting Dream as he _laughs_. He’s laughing at him because of course, this conversation couldn’t get any worse. When he sees Dream’s dumbfounded look, he laughs harder, “You seriously didn’t know? I tried to talk to you about Oscar Wilde the other day, I don’t even like the bloke that much, I just thought you would!”

“I do like Oscar Wilde,” he mutters to himself, a small smile forming on his face, “No, no, you’re shitting me. Why didn’t— why didn’t you just ask me out?”

The man shrugs, a smile still clear on his face, “I dunno, it was fun. Just can’t believe the students figured it out before you did, aren’t you supposed to be good at analyzing words?”

“Yeah,  _ written words _ !” he exclaims, “So, what… what? You wanna go on a date or something?” 

“Are you asking?”

“Yes,” Dream decides before he can stop himself. 

“Then I’d love to.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream cooks for George and George pays him back.

“Did you ever ask him out?” Bryanne approaches him as he’s leaving class a couple of days later. 

Dream scoffs, “That’s none of your business, Bri, I expected better from you. Dylan  _ maybe _ would ask me, but you’re supposed to be the good example.”

“I was curious, sheesh!” the girl shakes her head as she leaves the classroom, calling out behind her, “I’m taking that as a yes!” 

He sighs to himself as he exits the classroom along with the students, trying not to give away the fact that the exact TA everyone in that class was trying to set him up with would be at his apartment later that night for dinner and wine. _Dinner and wine_. God, when did Dream grow up? Dates used to be hooking up in a random bedroom in a fraternity house, now he was cooking. _Dinner_. What happened to the Dream that did cocaine before his college graduation? Driving home, he tries to calm his nerves simply by running through the best and worst-case scenarios of tonight. Worst case? They avoid each other for the rest of the semester. Best? Dream gets his dick sucked. So, it’s a toss-up. 

Entering his apartment, he sighs. It’s a mess of books and papers scattered along every flat surface, pens littering the counter with matching notes in the margins of his favorites. He needs to clean, holy shit. There’s a difference between being an academic and a downright slob. With a groan, he gets to work, placing his vinyl of Harry Styles’ first album on his record player. His music taste is embarrassing, yes, but not bad enough that he owns his favorite One Direction album on vinyl so Harry will have to do for now. He’ll put on something better when George gets here. Getting to work, he tidies away his books in their proper shelves that line his apartment walls, placing papers in filing cabinets, before heading into the kitchen to get started on dinner. He figured pasta would work, it’s easy, and who doesn’t love pasta? 

He’s not used to cooking for other people, but he hasn’t died yet, so he’s pretty sure his food is okay. Busying himself with making his own sauce, he hardly even notices the knock on the door. 

“Shit,” he mumbles to himself, being more behind schedule than he’d like to be. He sets the sauce to simmer before running to the door, dish towel still over his shoulder like the mess he is. He’s still wearing his work clothes for christ’s sake. He answers the door, trying to seem casual and not like he stress cleaned his entire apartment an hour ago, smiling at George with a small, “Hi.” 

George smiles at the sight of Dream, despite how disgruntled he looks, saying, “Hey. Sorry, I’m a bit late, I had trouble finding your place.”

“No worries, I lost track of time a bit anyway, here, come on in,” Dream widens the door so the shorter man can step inside and he’s suddenly aware of everything in his apartment that could possibly be embarrassing— which there’s a lot of. “Uh, I’m still working on dinner so feel free to hang out in the kitchen with me.” 

He’s hyper-aware of George’s eyes tracing over everything in the apartment as they walk into the kitchen. It isn’t huge, but there’s an island with barstools for him to sit on while Dream hovers over the stove. 

“So,” he tries to make conversation as best he can, but he’s way too anxious, “Uh, how was dealing with the freshman today? I know Fisch has you teaching them while he’s gone.” 

“I don’t know how you do it with such passion,” George laughs, “I watch your lessons and you’re so animated up there. I just hand them the work and be done with it.”

“Well, it’s what I wanna do,” Dream shrugs, trying not to blush, but he already knows pink undertones are creeping up his neck, “Uh, you watch my lessons? How come I never noticed?”

He chuckles at this, leaning his elbows on the counter as he supports his chin. Dream watches as his cheeks squish up a bit. “I do, yeah, I like watching you teach. I fit in with the students, so I just… slide in the back.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re short, almost forgot,” Dream teases and talking to him gets a little bit easier. George rolls his eyes at him to which he simply laughs and turns back to the task at hand which is pouring the pasta into the sauce he made. “Are you a pesto or a marinara person?” 

“Pesto, marinara is too heavy,” the older answers with ease and Dream breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Perfect, me too,” Dream grins as he pulls two plates down from his cabinet. He keeps them at the top, which is something he never considered until now he realizes he could probably use this as an excuse to show off how tall he is. 

He hums softly to himself as he continues stirring the pasta into the sauce he made, trying not to be too aware of George’s eyes on him. He wondered what part of him George was focusing on— be it the dirty blond hair getting a little too long and curling around his neck, the way his button-up was probably tracing the muscles on his back, or maybe if he was lucky, George was staring at the way his work pants were hugging him. As he turns to hand him a plate, he finds the man’s eyes raking over his figure as a whole. Dream doesn’t say anything besides offering a small half-smile before nodding to his sad excuse for a dining table against the wall of his living room. When he first moved in, he tried to make the place work with what little space he has, but it’s definitely a bit of a mess when it comes to the placements of everything, but George doesn’t comment. 

“Hope you’re not a harsh critic when it comes to food, this is the best I have to offer,” Dream teases as he places the plates down, “Uh, wine? Or water? I think I’ve got like a seven-month-old beer in my fridge somewhere if you’re into that.”

“You have  _ wine _ ?” __

“It was eight dollars, sometimes my friend Sapnap and I get wine drunk and watch KDramas,” Dream chuckles, “It’s not good, but it’s what I have.”

George outwardly laughs at this, his eyes squinting up as his shoulders shake, “If that’s the case, water will be fine.”

“That’s what I thought,” he tsks, grabbing two empty glasses from the kitchen and filling them with ice water, placing them on the table as he sits down across from George. A small silence falls over the two of them as they start to eat, but it’s not awkward in nature. He’s a bit more comfortable now that there’s food on the table, almost as if it’s a buffer between him and George. Watching as George wraps his mouth around his fork, Dream takes a feverish sip of water. It’s a  _ date _ , he should not be thinking about those things. There’s nothing more promised, he knows that. For all he knows, George is only here for the sake of being nice. Then again, he  _ was _ the one who had claimed to be flirting with Dream in the first place, but still. 

After a moment, with an impressed look, George asks, “You made this sauce? Like, from scratch?”

Itching the back of his neck, he avoids the other’s eyes, saying, “Uh, yeah, I did. Does it suck? You can be honest with me?”

George scoffs, “No, you idiot, it’s  _ really  _ good, like, really good. I could eat this all day.” 

He chuckles softly, trying not to look too embarrassed at the compliment as he mutters, “I’m, uh, glad you like it. I get nervous about cooking for other people, so…”

“Well, you shouldn’t, this is amazing,” he compliments and Dream sighs gently. He’s barely touched his own food, too busy looking at George. He hears the record scratch and the beginning of  _ Meet Me in the Hallway  _ begins to play once more and Dream scrambles to get up.

“Sorry, let me change it super quick.” He gets up and puts away the Harry Styles record, scanning his collection for something else to play. Dream doesn’t even realize George followed him up until he feels a pair of hands on his waist. His breath hitches as George presses against him and he already knows the other heard it. “Any recommendations?”

George rests his head on Dream’s shoulder and he subconsciously leans into the touch as the other man laughs, “A record player? As if you weren’t already a pretentious English major enough.”

“Oh, come on now,” Dream shakes his head, thumbing through the records before picking out one that might suit the way things have… shifted. “Uh, this  _ might _ be familiar.”

“Hozier? Seriously?” the other huffs with a small smile, “Pretentious English major, it’s like you get off on it.”

“It’s a good album!” he exclaims in defense of his taste, placing the record on the player and starting it, the beginning of  _ Take Me To Church  _ filling the room. Of course, the first song on the album had to be sensuality mixed with religious guilt, but it was too late to take it back now.

Dream angles his chin so he’s facing George as much as he can, trying not to collapse into the touch as much as he would like to. He clears his throat, but doesn’t move, focusing only on George’s warm breath fanning over his neck. “Uh, we should… should we get back to dinner?” 

“Hm, should we?” George mutters half-heartedly as he presses a soft kiss to the spot on Dream’s neck he had been hovering over. They _should_ , but Dream is beginning to care less and less about the food on the table getting cold.

_ Oh, fuck this _ , Dream thinks to himself, before turning around so his front is pressed against George instead, pulling the man against him, his back supported only by his crates of records against the wall. He’s tired of waiting, grabbing George by the jaw, perhaps a little too roughly, and smashing their lips together like he had been craving all evening. It was heated, desperate in a way that Dream knows he wasn’t the only one feeling this way. His skin burns where George has his hands on Dream’s waist, the thin layer of fabric between their skin not letting it be enough to satiate the feeling of pure want. George seems to read his mind as he feverishly tugs Dream’s shirt out of where it’s tucked into his pants, skin meeting skin in a way that singes his hip; he wants George to leave bruises. He groans into the kiss, reaching a hand up to tug George back by his dark hair, pulling them apart only for him to press his lips on the pale skin of George’s neck. Fingers tangle in his hair, pulled taught as George leans his head back at the feeling of Dream’s lips on his skin. The feeling of George’s hands on his skin is euphoric, but he can’t help but crave more. He pulls away from the man only to unbutton his shirt, his hands shaking, jittery. 

“Let me,” George mumbles, kissing and sucking on Dream’s jaw as he reaches to unbutton the shirt, pulling it open, but not discarding it completely. It’s still half-tucked and one sleeve is falling down Dream’s arm and he’s overly aware of the fact that he probably looks like a mess, however, George’s eyes rake his bare chest with a feeling in them that could only be described as hunger. His accent is thick as he whispers,  _ “You are so fucking hot.” _

Dream chuckles darkly, his only response being to pull George off of him just to kiss him again. His hands crawl under the hem of George’s shirt, aching to rip it off of him. All he wants is  _ more _ . He gives up on holding back, reaching to undo the buttons and George doesn’t stop him. Once George’s shirt is mostly off the other man reaches for Dream’s belt. The song ends and there’s a brief silence where the only sound is the movement of the belt buckle being undone echoing against the walls of the apartment. Time slows in that moment, speeding up once the next song starts and George shoves his hand down Dream’s pants, palming his erection through his underwear. He gasps at the contact, accidentally biting down on George’s lip, but the other doesn’t seem to mind as he fucking  _ moans _ into Dream’s mouth. 

_ “Fuck,” _ Dream whispers harshly, panting with each breath as his hips involuntarily lean into every touch of George’s hand, “More,  _ please.”  _

He takes this as an opportunity to pull his pants down to mid-thigh, taking his underwear down with it. Dream lets out a moan as George takes him in his hand, the touch light in a way that makes his body yearn for more. It’s almost as if George can smell the desperation radiating off of him; keeping his movements slow and calculated. He whines, not even recognizing the sound leaving his own throat.

“Fuck, you’re such a tease,” Dream mutters, taking out his frustration by biting and sucking on George’s neck in a way he knows will leave bruises. The sound that leaves George’s throat from this movement unlocks something feral in him as he goes lower and lower, leaving a trail of bite and bruises down George’s chest. There’s no calculation, no logic in his movements, all he wants is for there to be evidence of this event, something that shows he was here. 

Once he gets halfway down George’s chest, the man stops his movements hastily, pushing Dream away. He wonders if this is him asking them to stop, but his wordless question is answered as George sinks to his knees, his hand still clinging to Dream’s own kiss-bitten chest. It’s a disastrous sight, the wide eyes looking up at Dream, telling him George knows exactly just how much he’s destroying him. 

Slowly, George licks a stripe along the length of Dream’s dick before taking him entirely into his mouth. He groans at the warmth, balancing himself by pushing a hand against George’s shoulder, the other one tangled in the dark locks, holding him tightly. He’s afraid to let go for fear his knees will buckle from the feeling alone. 

“ _ Fuck _ , George,” it’s a breathy whisper, the words drowned out by the music surrounding them, but he doesn’t need words for George to know how undoing this is. The hand on his chest presses tightly and Dream entertains the idea of a handprint being left behind on the flushed, tan skin. 

George knows what he’s doing, that much is obvious judging by the way he keeps one hand splayed across Dream’s stomach as he hollows out his cheeks, looking up at Dream with the devil in his eyes. He knows he’s close already, which is probably embarrassing, but when George is looking at him like what while  _ sucking  _ the way he is, how could he not be? He is but a man who has not had contact with someone like this in  _ far _ too long. He watches George until he can’t anymore, his eyes sliding closed as his head falls back in bliss. 

Keeping his grip on George’s hair, Dream tugged him off so that contact was almost completely lost, save for the head of his cock resting in George’s open mouth. Dream looks down, breathless at the sight. 

“You are so fucking  _ pretty _ . Such a good boy, huh?” At the words, he can feel the man whine as he takes Dream into his mouth again, his tongue tracing around the head, eager to lick up the drops of pre-cum leaking from his tip. “Fuck, you like it when I call you that, don’t you?”

In response, George takes Dream in whole, the tip of his dick reaching the back of George’s throat, causing the blond man to release a strangled moan. He feels himself letting go, his whole body tensing up with the promise of an oncoming orgasm. “Fuck, George, I’m close, fuck.”

The man seems to take this as more of a challenge than a warning, a hand beginning to work at the base of Dream’s dick while he circles around the tip desperately, looking up at Dream through long eyelashes. He knows exactly what he’s doing to him, judging by the look in his eyes. Dream caves finally, releasing into George’s mouth with a deep moan, throwing his head back against the wall, letting George wreck him further with his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Dream gasps, not being able to take it any longer as he pulls George off of him by the hair. Grabbing his jaw, he leans down and kisses him desperately, getting off on the taste of himself on George’s lips. 

He watched as George pulled away from him, wiping stray moisture off of the corner of his mouth with his thumb before pressing the pad of his finger against Dream’s tongue with a breathy, satisfied smile. Without thinking, Dream wraps his lips around the finger. He could do this all night.

“You are…” the words drifted off as George removed his finger from Dream’s mouth, opting to press their lips together once more instead of finishing his sentence. He struggles to zip up his own pants, hands still shaking, but aching for more. He reaches for George’s belt, hoping to return the favor, but he feels the other’s hands on his, stalling them, “Mm, you made me dinner.”

Dream scoffs, “A dinner we barely ate.”

“ _ And  _ you’ve gotta teach Fisch’s 9 am tomorrow,” he reminds him with a small grin, “Pay me back another time.”

“Is that you saying there’ll be another time?” Dream asks with his brow raised, reaching over to button George’s shirt back up. 

George laughs at this, pressing a kiss to his lips, softer than before. “If you want there to be.”

“Is it desperate if I say please?” he teases, pulling George back in by the collar of his shirt, not being able to get enough of him. He wants more, so much more. 

He cocks his head to the side with a small smile, “A little, but I don’t mind.”

“Asshole,” he shoots back, pushing the man away from him gently. “Actually, I take it back, you probably get off on being called that shit, don’t you?”

“Maybe, wouldn’t you like to find out?” 

“Oh, I’m planning on it.” 

The next morning, Dream slumps into class with a double shot of iced espresso, throwing his lesson plan on the desk as he faces the students, “Okay, I promise Fisch will be back next week, but y’all have to deal with me for one more class —”

“Clay, is that a fucking hickey?” Dylan, half-asleep, interrupts the morning spiel with a groan, rubbing his eyes as if hoping that would help him see it better. Immediately, Dream slaps a hand to his neck, pressing down and finding there is in fact a bruise visible above his collar. He  _ thought _ he was in the clear. Apparently, he was wrong.

“That’s none of your business,” he speaks matter-of-factly, “Okay,  _ Sonny’s Blues,  _ anyone read it? Please, I wanna see more hands than I did for Oates, come on, guys.”

“Stop lying to us, it is our business,” Bryanne pipes up and Dream misses the days when she was quiet. “You cheating on George?”

“George and I are not —” he’s interrupted once more by the door opening. “Speak of the devil.”

“Aw, you guys were talking about me,” George says with no emotion in his voice, “Uh, one of your short stories got mixed in with my research papers, so a student is probably missing theirs, here.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he mutters as he takes the paper, reading the name before placing it on the outbox to give back to the student later. He’s careful how he acts around George, trying not to give anything away.

He thinks they’ve almost gotten away with it when he hears Dylan ask, “Hold on, what the hell is on  _ your _ neck, George? Is that what I think it is? Are you guys —”

“God damn it,” Dream sighs to himself, “We were so close.”

“Mind your business,” is all George says, shooting a small smile in Dream’s direction. He goes to leave the classroom, but not before saying, “Oh, and  _ Clay,  _ see you tonight?”

He’s gonna kill George for this later. “See you tonight.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing for seven years and this was my first time writing smut and it took me all day to get through it so there's that! I hope it didn't suck, I had my team of ppl getting me through it so thank u [syd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicwritings), [bee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedcoffeebee), and [jil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reidingrainbow) for hypin me up we had the whole crew on the google doc for this one
> 
> anyway, check me out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/nicowritess)


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